


The Well

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brother Feels, Character Death, Comes Back Wrong, Costumes, Gen, Murder, Other, Revenge, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Ernest never thought he'd see his brother again. But there Johnny was, the same as ever. As if nothing had happened.But something had -- Ernest knew that for certain.





	The Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



> Wow, I hope you like this! I kind of went to town on your likes, especially: : relationships between living characters and spirits/ghosts, capgras syndrome, revenge tales, hauntings as a manifestation of guilt, death fic, shapeshifters, & personifications of gods.

The day Johnny came back was hot and bright, with the sky overhead a hard, brittle blue with only dabs of clouds to soften it. Even for late October, even for this part of the state, it was unusual, and maybe that set the animals on edge. That morning, the hens wouldn’t lay, and the cow’s milk had been sour. The dogs were howling and scratching at the ground for what felt like hours, and even bawling them out did no good -- just a human barking at a dog.

Ernest wiped the sweat from his brow and wondered if he’d be able to go to town to see Sadie after all -- it wasn’t that he was in love with her, whatever anyone said, but at least it would be an excuse to leave this damned farm for a few blessed hours. 

But then his mother’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. “Why,” she said, standing up from the rocking chair, the potatoes she’d been peeling tumbling to the ground. “There’s Johnny coming up the hill! Ernest, why didn’t you tell me he was coming?” 

“I didn’t know myself,” Ernest muttered. He was ignored, as he knew he’d be. Ma and Pa rushed down to see Johnny, who halted his progress to talk to them and exchange hugs. Ernest stayed where he was, gripping the fence post hard enough for the splinters to get beneath his nails. 

Johnny had a smile for him when he came up, but that was Johnny for you. He always had a smile for everyone, even a miserable son of a bitch like Ernest (or so he said) -- and he was still grinning when he asked, “Well, did you miss me, brother?” 

“No,” Ernest said when Ma hit his arm. 

“Of course we did, Johnny,” she said, her eyes shining. “It’s been almost a year since you went off to college and we’ve not heard a peep out of you this whole time.” 

“That was my fault,” Johnny said, looking down, as if bashful. His blond hair stuck out at odd angles from under his hat. He took off his hat as soon as they crossed the threshold into the house, throwing it towards Ernest, who caught it easily enough. He’d had lots of practice picking up after Johnny, after all. 

“The city’s an absorbing place, Ma. I was so busy that I couldn’t write to you, much less visit.” 

“Selfish as ever,” Ernest muttered sourly and it was Johnny himself who answered him. 

“You’re the same as ever too, ain’t you, Ernie?” 

“Oh, Ernest’s doing well for himself too, you know,” Ma said hurriedly. “That Grant girl might marry him soon, and you know how much land she’s got --” 

“Sadie? With Ernie?” Johnny laughed at that, a rich, wonderful laugh that only had a bare edge of mockery to it. He looked at Ernest then, his eyes green as grass. “I’d like to see that, anyway.” 

Ernest let Ma take Johnny to the kitchen to wash the dust from his face and feed him dinner. He stayed in the foyer and began to pace. He didn’t know who was in the kitchen, being fussed over and fed pie, but it wasn’t his brother Johnny.

Ernest knew it couldn’t be Johnny for the simple reason that Johnny was dead and Ernest had killed him, more than a year ago now. 

*

Ernest and Johnny weren’t twins, except maybe Irish ones. They were only fifteen months apart, with Johnny being the elder. Ernest didn’t know why his parents had even bothered having him, if Johnny satisfied them so much. But maybe that was part of it -- to have someone so bright and shining like Johnny, you’d need someone as dark and as dour as Ernest, to provide contrast. 

Johnny was smart and handsome. By age seventeen, half the town was in love with him, including Sadie Grant, the richest girl in town. But Johnny didn’t care about things like that. He’d dance with Sadie or with poor Bertha Landslaw the same. What he cared about was being adored, and it didn’t really matter who did it. 

The Matthews weren’t dirt farmers, but they’d never quite managed to recover from the downturn a few years back, and a few more bad years could wipe them out. But that wasn’t something Johnny had to worry about. Even in grade school, teachers would pull his parents aside to tell them to consider further education for Johnny, sending him to the private high school in St. Peter, seventy miles away. After that, there was even talk about college. 

Ernest, following behind, never could understand why people always lost their damn minds around Johnny. They looked the same, just about, but while Johnny set hearts a-racing, Ernest seemed to leave them cold. Ernest’s grades weren’t too bad, but everyone, his parents and his teachers, expected him to take the typical farm path, something Johnny was obviously too good for. 

He’d left school at sixteen and he hadn’t come back. No one seemed to miss him, not even those who he’d counted as friends. 

The last day Johnny was home was filled with crying and an endless stream of visitors, all of them wanting to wish him goodbye and good luck in his new life. Johnny basked in the attention, of course, loving every minute of it. He didn’t notice when Ernest slipped away to go to the old Henry place, or so Ernest thought. 

Old Man Henry had died before either of them were born and he’d had no wife nor children. The land itself was tied up in a lawsuit between the railroad and one of Henry’s distant cousins and everything had fallen into disrepair. The house and barn had fallen in on itself and the orchard had gone wild. As children, Johnny and Ernest had played near the old well -- daring each other to get closer to the edge and look down into the liquid darkness below. 

Now, Ernest looked down the well moodily and tapped the end of his cigarette at the edge of it. He watched the ashes fall down and down and wondered what would happen if he jumped in. No one would miss him, he was sure. 

“You gonna jump in?” said a familiar voice behind him. Ernest whipped around and glared at Johnny. 

“Don’t _do_ that --” he hissed, while Johnny sauntered up to the well and looked down too.

“I thought they’d closed this,” Johnny said, stealing one of Ernest’s cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He looked vaguely puzzled when a lighter didn’t magically appear in front of him. Ernest sighed and lit his cigarette.

Then he nodded over at the cover that he’d pushed back. When they’d been younger, there had been no cover, but after there were rumors of missing children (though no one knew who they were or when they’d disappeared), the surrounding farms had chipped in for a cover. Just to be safe. 

“W _-ell_ ,” Johnny said with a yawn, “I’ve heard just as much as I can take of how good of a guy I am. But I haven’t heard anything from _you_ , Ernie. And that hurts me, it really does.” 

“I don’t care what you do,” Ernest said, sticking his hand into his pocket. “And don’t call me Ernie. I’ve always hated that.” 

“But that’s who you are, stupid,” Johnny said with a wide grin. “My little brother, Ernie Matthews. You can’t do anything about it.” 

There was something heavy inside Ernest’s pocket. He felt around it, curiously, and realized it was a wrench he’d been using to fix the car earlier. “You don’t think I could be anything else,” he said slowly, feeling out the words. “Other than your brother, I mean?” 

Johnny looked up, his eyes hooded. He blew a thin column of smoke towards Ernest’s face. “Why do you want to be?” 

“Because I hate you!” Ernest burst out. “I’ve always --” 

Johnny threw back his splendid head and started to laugh. 

And he didn’t stop, not even when Ernest hit him with the wrench. A bright ribbon of blood appeared on his forehead, disappearing into his hair. He managed to gasp out Ernest’s name as Ernest wrapped his hands around his neck. But that didn’t last long. 

He went still soon enough and Ernest pushed his body into the well. He listened for a faint splash before he threw the wrench in as well. Moving like he was on a string, Ernest pushed the cover over the well and then vomited against the stone lip. 

He could hear faint noises coming from the well, but he ignored it. 

The rest of the night was a blur. He went back home to get the rest of Johnny’s luggage. He carefully stripped away anything with Johnny’s name on it, or their address, burning them in the little firepit near the barn. In the early morning, he brought it to the train station and mixed it in with the rest of the luggage going to Chicago. 

When people asked him why Johnny had left without saying goodbye, Ernest would shrug and then, with a rueful smile, admit that Johnny had asked to take him to the station early. “For once in his life,” Ernest said, twisting his cap in his hands, “I guess Johnny didn’t want to make scene.” 

*

Now, a year on, Johnny was looking across the dinner table and smiling. Ernest looked around, but no one else seemed to think this was strange. Johnny wasn’t eating -- he hadn’t put in a single thing in his mouth since he came in, no matter how frantically their mother had urged him to do it. His smile seemed too wide for his mouth, like he had too many teeth. 

“How’s my little brother been doing without me?” Johnny said softly, as if he and Ernest were the only two people in the room. Ernest shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. 

“I’ve been fine,” he said. “Better than fine.” 

“You’ve always been kinda headstrong,” Johnny said with a shrug. “I’ve always been the one to knock some sense into you.” 

“Why don’t you tell us about the city,” Ernest said, a stubborn cast to his mouth. “What did you like about it? What are you doing there? Made a lot of friends, didn’t you?” 

Then Johnny launched into a long and colorful story of his first day at the university, where he had gotten lost twice and met and adopted a dog that had been his constant companion for his first year there. “I had to leave poor Fido behind when I came here -- the conductor made an awful fuss when he saw him, like he’d never seen a dog before. But one of my friends brought him home… Say, you probably won’t believe me, but I’ve really missed this place.” 

Johnny looked around, his eyes aglow. “Home, there’s nothing like it.” 

“This ain’t your home,” Ernest said. 

“Ernest! Apologize to your brother!” Ma said, coming in with a pie from the larder. But Johnny only laughed it off and reached over and ruffled Ernest’s hair. His hands felt cold against Ernest’s skin, like the touch of a dead man. 

*

The town threw itself into a tizzy, welcoming Johnny back into its loving bosom. There were parties and dances for him to go to, picnics for him to grace, church socials for him to visit. Johnny attended them all, dragging Ernest along with him. Ernest didn’t think he could say no to any of Johnny’s requests, not now. 

While he was still convinced that this Johnny was an imposter, there was a chance that somehow -- maybe -- Johnny had gotten free from that dark place, and had come back to punish him. He couldn’t leave Johnny alone with anyone -- what if he decided to say something? 

“Ernie’s sticking closer to me than a burr,” Johnny told Sadie Grant during a dance at her father’s house. 

“Oh?” Sadie said, glancing over to where Ernest lurked, a few feet away. “Do you like that kind of thing, Johnny?” 

“Me? I don’t like it at all,” Johnny said. “But it’s better than him getting in trouble.” 

“What kind of trouble do you get into, Ernest?” Sadie asked him. Her eyes were big and brown and seemed almost bottomless. 

“Deep trouble,” Johnny said with a laugh. “Dark. Ernie’s been a bad boy.” 

“Excuse me,” Ernest said to Sadie, who dismissed him with a shrug. He hustled Johnny away before he could say more, pushing him to the balcony that overlooked the back garden. Outside, the air had a bite to it and their breaths came out in billowy clouds.

“Why are you doing this?” Ernest whispered to him, clutching at his brother’s collar. “Why couldn’t you stay away? _Why did you have to come back?_ ” 

“Because I missed you, Ernie,” Johnny said. “It’s lonely there without you. Lonely and dark, and so, so _cold_.” 

Johnny was stronger than he’d been before, Ernie realized. He hadn’t even noticed how Johnny had pushed him to the edge of the balcony. A step more, and he would fall. “Do it, then,” Ernest spat out. “Let me fall.” 

Johnny looked past him, down the slope of the roof and to the garden below. “You’d break your legs.” He let go of Ernest and stepped backwards. “Be careful, Ernie.” 

“What are you two doing?” Sadie called from inside the house. “Please come inside, it’s time for the toast and my father wants you to deliver it, Johnny.” 

“That's mighty fine of him to offer,” Johnny said brightly, waltzing past them. Ernest moved to follow, but Sadie stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“Let him go on ahead,” she said softly. “May I talk to you, Ernest?” 

“What's wrong, Sadie?” 

“Shouldn't I ask you that?” Sadie said, cocking her head. “You've been different since Johnny came back. Do you really resent him that much?” 

“He's my brother,” Ernest said, shaking off her hand gently. “I love him, even when I don't.” 

“Well, I have siblings too,” Sadie said with a wry twist of her lips. “I assure you, I don't feel that way about them.” 

“Brothers are different,” Ernest said stubbornly. 

“I think you're different,” Sadie said. “You and Johnny. I'd say it's dangerous, but--” 

“You don't have to worry about stuff like that,” Ernest said, taking her hand and leading her away from the balcony. Downstairs, he could hear Johnny giving a speech, and the claps and shouted encouragement that came with it. 

*

Ernest moved into town a few weeks later. It was clear enough that Johnny didn't mean to return to the city, so the farm and everything that went with it was going to be his. He didn't know if Johnny wanted the farm -- he hadn't wanted anything to do with it before -- but this Johnny seemed to be everything to everyone, and for this parents, at least, it seemed that Johnny was settling back in just fine. 

But Ernest was not. He didn't particularly like his new job at the mercantile, nor his cramped little room at the back of the store where he spent much of his time, when he wasn't working. He tried to read but his mind wouldn't sit. He tried smoking, but his hands shook. He'd never been much of a drinker, and besides, in a town like this, just the act of buying a bottle of whiskey meant that there would be a rumor you were a dead drunkard within twenty-four hours of purchase. 

So instead he lay in bed, watching the cracks on the ceiling grow. Wouldn't it be better if he just skipped town altogether? Before, he hadn't wanted to leave his parents alone, with no one to take care of the farm. But if Johnny was back… 

How was Johnny back? Ernest stirred uneasily in his bed. Maybe Johnny hadn't been dead when he put him in that well after all. But then why had he waited a year to go back? Why hadn't he come back to accuse Ernest of trying to kill him? 

There was a light tapping on the narrow window of Ernest’s room. He looked up to see Johnny’s head pressed against the glass. He gave him a broad grin and gestured for him to come outside. 

Ernest knew the answer to his last question, at least. Johnny had come back to get his revenge on him. And Ernest couldn't fault him for it. He went over to the window and opened it. “What do you want, Johnny?” 

“Aren’t you bored in there? It’s barely midnight!” 

“I’ve got work tomorrow and --” 

“Just come on,” Johnny said, pulling him out of the window, nearly yanking Ernest’s arm out of its socket. He muffled Ernest’s yell with his hand and grinned at his look of outrage. 

“Have some fun with me before it’s all over,” Johnny said to him confidingly. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

“You didn’t have fun where… you were before?” 

“In the city?” 

“Yes,” Ernest said, dusting off his pants. He avoided Johnny’s bright, curious gaze and studied the ground. They walked off into the darkness together, where Johnny’s car was parked. So late at night, the town was quiet but not exactly sleeping -- Ernest could practically hear the twitching of curtains as they walked by. Tomorrow would bring a new crop of gossip about those Matthews boys, but he didn’t particularly care about that right now. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, then,” Johnny said, leaning in close enough that Ernest could feel Johnny’s breath tickling his hair. “I didn’t understand those people at all. They’re always so eager to get to places, to do things -- like it even matters in the end. They’re all destined for the grave, Ernie. And you are too, poor thing.” 

“And you ain’t?” Ernest looked up then and saw Johnny watching him, with a curiously shuttered expression on his face. 

“Not like them, no,” Johnny said. 

“Not like them, not like me either,” Ernest said, relentlessly. “What kind of thing are you?” 

“You wouldn’t like it if I told you,” Johnny said, looking up into the sky, his eyes shining. “I’d be nothing without this body, anyway. Just a little patch of darkness against the sky.” 

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Ernest said sharply. 

“Says you. Who’d be locked up if you told someone what you’re thinking right now,” Johnny said, still smiling. “That you killed the brother who’s standing right here in front of you?” 

It felt strange, seeing Johnny cheerfully say the thing that Ernest had tried to avoid thinking about for the last year and a half. It had been real, then. 

“You aren’t -- you aren't Johnny,” Ernest said softly. “I don’t know what you are, but I know that.” 

Johnny nodded to the horizon. “There’s a storm coming soon -- better get back home before it gets here, Ernie.” 

*

After a snowless winter, spring came in, hot and dry.

The whole town seemed to wrap itself around Johnny’s presence, as if he was the one thing that made them forget their troubles. When he suggested a picnic at the old Henry homestead, no one objected. 

No one but Ernest, anyway. He pointed out that the property had finally been sold and it was likely that the new owner wouldn't appreciate the younger members of Merryvale society availing themselves of his hospitality. 

“You worry too much, Ernest,” said Bertha, her eyes following Johnny’s slim figure as he carped and capered across the dance-floor with Sadie in his arms. Ernest folded his arms across his chest and thought, briefly, about refusing to participating in this escapade once and for all. 

Of course, in the end, he agreed to it. Who knew what Johnny would tell the girls if Ernest wasn't there to stop him. (It was strange, but Ernest had no worries that Johnny would tell their parents anything -- it would only cause them pain, after all, and Ernest didn’t think Johnny -- any version of him -- would do that.) 

The morning of the picnic dawned bright and hot -- almost as hot as the day that Johnny had come back from the dead. It hadn't rained in Merryvale since February, at least, and the radio said that they weren't like to get any rain for weeks on end. A fine layer of dust seemed to lie on everything -- from the leaves on the trees to the people milling about. Everyone seemed to be talking about going somewhere else, going to the city or even farther away -- going West. 

Ernest’s dreams were filled with plans of escape. He just needed a little more time to get ready. He wondered if Johnny ever dreamt of anything, or if his sleep was as dark and fathomless as his motivations. 

They spread the picnic blanket in a shaded spot in the orchard. The trees were just starting to blossom -- but the flowers were small and sickly-looking. Sadie had packed the lunch -- or rather, her housekeeper had -- and she looked over the provisions with considerable pride. Bertha Landslaw, two of the Thomas boys and Sydney Vance rounded out the company. As usual, there was talk and antics -- running around, foolishness -- before the food, and afterwards, an awkward sort drowsiness seemed to set in. 

Sadie curled up with Bertha and fell asleep. Ernest watched them intently, trying to commit each and every impression he had to memory. The color of the sky. The smell of apple blossoms. The dimple on Sadie’s neck. 

Johnny came behind and caught his hand. “Ernest,” he said smiling, “it's time.” 

Ernest nodded grimly.

It had been exactly two years to the day when he had killed Johnny for the first time. 

*

The well looked the same as ever. It was only because Ernest knew what he knew that it seemed to exert a powerfully evil aura around it. The cover was open -- the dark mouth of it was wide and gaping, like a silent scream. The grass around the stones were dead and matted down, as if a crowd of people had gathered around the well. 

The revolver Ernest had in his back pocket was small and pearl-handled -- a woman’s gun. His employer, Mr. Breton, had bought it for his wife, Isabel, who had a horror for guns and never used it. It had been easy to steal it from the vault the other day, far easier than it would have been to steal one of his father's guns.

Johnny was looking down the well and he didn't look up when Ernest cocked the gun and pointed it at him. 

“Are you going to try again, Ernie? Didn't work so well last time, did it?” 

“Shut up,” Ernest said sharply. “I can't stand this -- if you'd go to the sheriff and tell him what I did, it would be different. But you want to hold it over me, forever…” 

“I'm not going to be here forever,” Johnny said, his eyes wide. “Contrary to what you believe, it's not endlessly fascinating to be Johnny Matthews. I got tired of it months ago. I only stayed for you.” 

“Me,” Ernest said flatly. 

“I'd never had someone see me so clearly before,” Johnny said confidently. “I didn't even have to pretend with you. Pretend to be human. Pretend to be kind. It was nice, you know. I enjoyed it.” 

“If you liked it so much then you'll grant me a favor,” Ernest said. 

Johnny cocked his head, curiously. He was looking progressively less and less like Johnny as they spoke. But instead of looking like someone else, he looked blank, like he was nothing at all. 

“Let me see your true face,” Ernest said. “Let me see what you really are.” 

Johnny -- the thing that has been Johnny -- laughed. It was a deep and terrible laugh and Ernest almost shivered in pleasure, hearing it. It attracted him and repulsed him at the same time. 

“Better men than you have tried to see a god’s face, Ernest Matthews. Are you ready for it?” 

“Yes,” Ernest said, his heart hammering in his chest. The gun slipped out of his hands. “Yes, I want to see.” 

*

Sadie woke up from her nap to the sound of a gun going off. Bertha was already on her feet by the time Sadie had gathered her wits and helped her stand. She couldn't see either of the Matthews brothers in the orchard, although everyone else was there. She felt sick to her stomach and she couldn't say why. 

*

The search was called off only a few hours after it started. Two bodies were found in the well on the old Henry property. One body was obviously that of Ernest Mattthews, only a few hours dead. The other one, a man, was so badly decomposed that an expert had to come in from the city to identify him. Both men had gone into the well alive -- but they'd gone in years apart. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, Sath & AlterEgon! All remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
